The Strangely Beautiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  The professor handed over an assignment with a sigh and leaned back, pressing thumb and forefinger to his nose in characteristic thought. Percy bit her lip and read this as her cue to leave. With the same unconscious ceremony as accompanied her disrobing, she reversed the process. Wrapping her length of blue muslin about her head and neck, donning gloves and glasses, she rose from her chair and lifted books into her slender arms.

  She didn’t know how to bring up the subject of the Ripper, yet she felt she must before walking out the door. Quietly she said: “It is good that the school has taken precautions, considering the recent state of affairs. It’s such a frightful thing—and it troubles you greatly, doesn’t it, Professor?”

  “Yes, Miss Parker, it does,” Professor Rychman replied. He and Percy stared at each other, and she felt compelled to ask his further opinion, but the gravity of his expression stilled her inquiry.

  He glanced past her, a smile flickering across his face. “On your way in, Miss Parker, did you notice the new addition?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, Professor, I didn’t,” Percy replied, seeing Josephine’s newest painting. Her books fell from her arms. Papers scattered. Choking, she sank to her knees, glasses falling from her face and into the folds of her dress.

  “Miss Parker?” Professor Rychman called out.

  Dimly, Percy saw him rise from his desk and rush to her side. But compelled by the force that had overtaken her, she began to speak in a voice that was not quite her own, one that spoke in Greek, and her senses were no longer in England: “No, I’ll yearn for the sea,” she insisted, glancing fearfully at the cave entrance before turning back to the shore. “I hear crying. Who’s crying?”

  “You are.”

  An overwhelming smell accosted her nostrils; a very specific fruit. A beautiful, unearthly man touched her arm and she chilled. Light bounced off the sea before her. Darkness was behind. In the sunlight ahead, out on the rocks, a figure reached toward her in anguish.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Don’t take me just yet; give me one more hour…”

  “Your time has come, love,” said the eerie man, and his cold hand seized her shoulder to lead her into the darkness.

  She reached out to the figure who wept in the light. The sweet smell of fruit turned her stomach. “Shall I never see them again? Him?”

  “Perhaps someday, in some other era. But never the bird again. Never that bird.” And the luminous man pressed something into her hand.

  “Miss Parker!” Alexi said, kneeling before her. The girl’s eyes looked unseeing into the distance. He took her outstretched hand and squeezed it, hoping to bring her gently back from her sudden transportation. A soft breath escaped her lips, but she remained far away.

  Staring at her with fascination, he tightened his grip about her fingers. A breeze rustled through the room, and he felt his powers rise. What was happening in that moment was unparalleled. He’d never encountered anything like it. And while there was no visible door to indicate Prophecy was occurring, this was unmistakably a sign. Perhaps his goddess was trying to speak through Percy Parker.

  “Yes, come to me,” he breathed.

  A sound came across the waves, a whisper to rouse a dreamer. Percy felt something in her hand and so she opened her palm.

  Seeds. Juicy, ruby red seeds.

  She stifled a cry. How could she be parted from her angel? There was a sensation upon her outstretched fingertips, feathery like wings, which she heard rustling. And a murmur so like the waves called to her again and spoke a name that sounded vaguely familiar. She wanted to go to that voice. It was calling her.

  “Miss Parker,” Alexi said again, patiently.

  He felt her fingers stir in his palm and draw away. He murmured an ancient benediction known only to The Guard, then pressed his fingertip first to her forehead and then to her collarbone. She was still lost. He couldn’t help but notice her resonant beauty, captured in the passionate throes of this faraway vision.

  Finally, clutching her by the arms: “Percy.” A gentle yet firm command.

  “He’ll come for me, I swear it. Please don’t let the dark take me again!” the girl cried, her words at last returned to her native English tongue. Her eyes were full of horror as they snapped into focus. The spell was broken.

  Percy stared up at her dear professor, who now knelt before her, firmly holding her arms in his hands. Terror overwhelmed her and she scrambled to her feet. The professor rose and, with swift control, seized her.

  She stared deeply into his eyes, blushing, and shook her head. “Please, Professor, don’t send me to an asylum! I’m not mad, I swear to you. Forgive me, I had no warning, I don’t know what that w—”

  “Miss Parker, shhh.” He forced her to meet his gaze. “No one is going to commit you.”

  “Oh, Professor, good God, what you must think of me.” She began to cry.

  “Calm yourself, Miss Parker, there is no need of tears. All is well. Whatever held you for a moment is gone. No one will take you anywhere.”

  Percy had never been so close to him, and her senses swam. Her blush could grow no more fiery, and her tears would not stop, yet she had no choice but to believe her stern professor. She took a long breath.

  He released her arms. They both looked at the place where his hands had been. She looked at him shyly as she bent to collect her books and papers, trying desperately to think of something redeeming she might say, but her tongue was shackled. Her shaking hands placed her small, dark glasses back upon her face.

  The professor calmly watched her fumble for her things. “You have no idea what had you just then, Miss Parker? Were you aware you were speaking Greek?”

  Percy picked up the last of her papers and stood. She shook her head. “I have no idea, Professor. No idea at all!” she murmured helplessly. “But I owe you so much. My life is in your debt. If you had not brought me back…I wonder if I might ever have returned!”

  Scurrying to the door, she gave no further explanation but was careful not to give the painting a second glance. The door half open, she turned again, murmured another few thank-yous and apologies brimming with emotion, and disappeared into the hall.

  Alexi sat heavily at his desk, making notes. His head swam.

  Miss Parker had not been his goddess speaking to him. She hadn’t come with answers; she was as lost as he in this place of waiting and wondering. She didn’t seem to know what she was, or what she might be; so he couldn’t be sure she was Prophecy. Not yet. And there was too much at stake to guess.

  But she had, in a way, dealt with a door. It was a portal that only she had entered. Could Prophecy be interpreted broadly?

  “One step at a time, or everything will be ruined,” he muttered. “The goddess warned caution. It could all be a trap. Everything could be a ruse, and you dare not fail.” But his stomach tightened when he thought of how it had felt to grasp Miss Parker’s delicate hands in his own, and he burned with an exotic shame.

  No! Students were not involved in the Grand Work. He and Rebecca had long ago pledged this, for the school was a boundary. It was both a wall and a link—a bridge between an average human life and the strange fate foisted upon him, the fate that made him an outcast in the very society he was sworn to protect. An outcast like Miss Parker. Maybe she would understand…

  “You are her teacher,” he reminded himself. “She is not a peer, so you cannot be more.” But a foreign sensation was waking inside of him, churning with emotion locked tightly away.

  On the opposite side of the academy, Percy burst into Marianna’s room and collapsed upon the bed. Her friend sat at her desk with a book. Starting with surprise, she shook her head. “And what is it now, my dear?”

  “I had a vision tonight, a vision that pulled me in and would not let go!” Percy wailed into a pillow. “When I came to, I was kneeling in the professor’s office. I must have appeared absolutely raving!”

  “What? A vision…took you in?”

  “It was as if I was su
ddenly in a dream, and I collapsed—Oh, dear Lord! He was there before me, trying to bring me back. Oh, Marianna, it was humiliating!”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “And I was speaking Greek.” Percy loosed a sickly laugh. “The professor asked how I liked his new painting. It was as if I went into the painting! My vision was the painting come to life. I had no power to resist; it was as if it had all happened before.”

  “This is so strange, Percy,” Marianna said. “What shall you do?”

  Percy shrugged, helpless. There was a long silence. “Could he have something to do with it?” she murmured at last.

  “Your professor?”

  Percy shook her head, feeling ill. “I must clear my mind of this. I must find some distraction.”

  “Well, I’m having a frightful time with The Odyssey,” Marianna admitted. “You might assist me.”

  “Wonderful!” Percy cried. She spent the rest of the evening helping Marianna grapple with Homer. It was much easier than dealing with the fact that her inscrutable professor was unquestionably part of her destiny.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Percy’s heart faltered as Professor Rychman opened the door to his classroom. Today she feared not only what he must think of her, but the repetition of an uncontrolled vision. There was the additional terror of the day’s Alchemy and Mathematics exam.

  He stalked quietly into the room, glancing at each student in turn as he discussed the usual manner of his examinations. She heard the rustling of his robe behind her but couldn’t bring herself to look up when he passed her table. He paused nearby. Percy’s pulse quickened.

  “…And I do, ladies and gentlemen, expect your answers to be in English and no other language.” The professor then offered Percy a soft aside, in Greek. “Do I make myself clear, Miss Parker?”

  Her eyes shot up and she gave him an expression of helpless apology. He rewarded her with a kindly smirk. Relief flooded her body, and she returned the smile: he didn’t hate her, wasn’t wholly put off by that inexplicable encounter last night. He nodded briefly to indicate the subject a closed matter, and then the classroom echoed with the remainder of his exam particulars.

  After taking the test, Percy spent the entire afternoon bemoaning it. Alternately she dwelled upon his little smirk and gracious understanding. Before she knew, it was nearly six and she was rushing off to see him.

  On his office door there was a folded piece of paper marked miss parker. The note inside read:

  I shall likely be otherwise engaged at the time of your arrival, Miss Parker. The door is open; you may enter and await me inside.

  —Rychman

  Percy folded the note with care and tucked it into her corset, placing the lovely spiral script next to her heart. Dreaming it a note of a more personal bent, she suddenly flushed, appalled at how easily her fancy took flight.

  Glancing furtively about the room, she couldn’t help but make a bold dash to the professor’s phonograph, a luxury of which she was sure her convent would never have approved. Her skirts fluttering as she knelt, Percy rifled through ornate boxes of Bach and opera before her eye fell upon a cover edged in red velvet, with gilt letters: “Requiem” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Her choice was made.

  Placing the thick disk upon the turntable, she turned the crank and the needle made contact. Voices and orchestration burst forth. The melody began as a simple, ascending line of strings, mournful and glorious, and it halted Percy’s breath. She stepped away, beaming, relishing every note. It was the Lacrimosa.

  But as the choir began to sing, their voices ebbing and flowing, a most intriguing thing followed. Within the first few bars, as if a summons bell tolled, spirits began to pour through the walls, windows and ceiling of Professor Rychman’s magnificent office. Each note drew a new soul from the fabric of the air, as if all the spirits of Athens Academy had been beckoned to fill the room in rapture.

  Percy stood amazed and delighted. In addition to the more familiar haunts, the spectral retinue of the nearby British Museum must have also been invited. Spirits of all times, cultures and classes twirled around her, dancing and reveling to the gorgeous death mass, singing in unison with the choir. Some looked down and evaluated Percy. She returned their hollow gazes and they were greatly pleased.

  Like a butterfly shedding its chrysalis Percy tossed her shawl, glasses and gloves upon the desk and abandoned herself, as the spirits did, to the music, sharing a bond with them that went beyond colouration. Her skirts spun out around her.

  Constance, haunt of the science library, wafted near. Her spiral curls bounced weightlessly. “Hello, Miss Percy! This one, it just so happens, is our favourite! However did you know?” Percy just giggled and spun beside her ghostly friend, closing her eyes in a moment of ecstasy.

  The entire lot, human and spirits, failed to notice as the office door quietly opened and shut.

  Alexi stood just inside the threshold to his office and raised an eyebrow at the spectral bedlam. Setting his jaw, he stared at the veritable army of spirits that had collected in his office uninvited. As he folded his arms and shook his head, a veritable column of black fabric, the haunts began to notice. He shooed each off with a wave of his hand, and they knew enough not to disobey.

  Miss Percy Parker. What a curious one she was. He wished the mortal young woman could see what kind of chaos she had stirred up, but surely she couldn’t.

  One spirit remained unaware of his presence, staring at Miss Parker with such longing that he reluctantly decided to let it stay. The spirit, a hollow-eyed girl with ringlets and clothing from long past, reached toward Percy, wishing to touch her. Alexi understood. When left to her own devices, Miss Parker was neither shy nor awkward; she was radiant.

  After a moment, the spirit turned and caught Alexi’s gaze. He nodded a slight greeting. The ghost’s eyes widened and a hand flew to her lips, suddenly delighted, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He shook his head and stalked to his desk.

  Hearing sudden, firm footfalls against the wooden floor, Percy opened her eyes and cried out, embarrassment surging. Fervently blurting apologies, she ran to the phonograph to stop the music. Professor Rychman halted her.

  “Let it play, Miss Parker. Perhaps you will better absorb your studies when they are underscored by Mozart.”

  “Th-thank you, Professor, for yet another instance of your kind patience. I am—”

  The professor narrowed his eyes, clearly wishing to hear no more. Percy scurried to her seat as he gracefully took his.

  Constance floated to her side. Percy glanced up and tried to nod the ghost toward the door. Constance just grinned and shook her head, refusing. Percy pursed her lips.

  The entirety of the lesson passed with Constance hovering just behind and to the side of Percy’s chair in what appeared to be an attempt to distract her. Dread that the professor might finally snap under the strain of her odd behaviour and send her packing from the academy made Percy’s hands shake, but she certainly could not explain to him that she was having difficulty concentrating because the deceased was breathing down her neck. How could yet another mad admission aid her credibility?

  Once the professor had finished a complex little lecture, he sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. Constance, who had watched the lesson as if she, too, were his pupil, leaned in, her translucent face just above Percy’s head. Feeling the cold draft in the ghost’s wake, Percy batted at her hair in irritation.

  “That will be all for today, Miss Parker,” the professor declared, promptly picking up a book and burying himself in it.

  Percy gathered her shrouds in haste. Constance took this opportunity. She whirled to Percy’s side and whispered, “You realize, Percy, that he can see me, too.”

  “What?” Percy breathed.

  The professor glanced up from his book. Percy stared at him, wide-eyed, then at the ghost, and then back at the professor. Professor Rychman furrowed his brow, looked at the ghost, then back at Percy.

&nbs
p; “You can see Constance?” Percy squeaked.

  Professor Rychman frowned. “Constance?” He nodded slowly. “I did not know the two of you were…acquainted.”

  “But you can see her?”

  “If you mean this transparent woman with curled hair and dated fashion, yes, Miss Parker, I can.”

  Percy nearly wept with joy.

  “You, strange one, who never cease to surprise me, how do you know that she is Constance?”

  “She told me, sir.”

  “Told you?”

  “He cannot hear me, Percy. That is the difference between the two of you,” Constance explained.

  “Yes, sir, she told me.”

  “You can see and speak with them?” the professor clarified.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “My, my, Miss Parker. How very useful,” he mused.

  Percy narrowed her eyes. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Never mind. When did this ability of yours begin?”

  It took the professor nodding encouragement to convince her to continue.

  “It has been with me since I can remember, Professor,” Percy admitted. “My earliest memories are of Gregory, an Elizabethan spirit. In life his daughter was trampled by a horse and I became a surrogate to his restless soul. It was only because of my fondness for him that I knew I had any sort of ability. I never thought anything amiss until I unwittingly told Reverend Mother. She, of course, was quite shocked…” Percy chuckled as memories washed over her. “Dear Gregory, I do hope he has found peace!” She suddenly remembered herself. “Oh, but forgive my prattling on, Professor!”

  “It’s fascinating,” he replied in earnest.

  “Could you always see them, Professor?”

  “No,” he replied simply, and seemed taken by sudden memories himself.

  “When did it happen that you could, sir?”

  “I’m afraid, Miss Parker, that would take more time to explain than I have to give. Did anyone other than your mother superior know of your ability?”

  “No. She did not want anyone to declare me mad. Of course, there was the day she sent a priest to exorcise Gregory. I made a terrible fuss, screaming that they didn’t dare take my friend away. Can’t say I endeared myself to the priesthood after that, and Reverend Mother made it clear to keep my sight a secret ever after. But Professor, how happy this makes me! To know I’m not the only one, and that perhaps you may know why—”